


littlest savior

by nezstorm



Series: sharing voices [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Gen, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentions of Murder, Orphan Stiles Stilinski, Powerful Stiles Stilinski, Young Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 02:44:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: Peter wakes up to whimpering and small hands petting his face.





	littlest savior

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kami_wa_Byakurai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kami_wa_Byakurai/gifts).



Peter wakes up to whimpering and small hands petting his face. He’s disoriented at first, not recognizing any of the scents expect for  _ stilespupscared _ and the metallic tang of his own blood. It’s that first smell that pushes him to consciousness, his eyes snapping open and zeroing on Stiles who is kneeling right next to his head.

 

The boy’s face is smudged with dirt and blood, making the tear tracks that much more prominent. He seems to be unharmed, though, to Peter’s relief.

 

Stiles slumps into him once he sees Peter is awake, small body curling under Peter’s arm where he’s lying on the cold ground. They’re alone in a warehouse, as far as Peter can tell, no sign of the hunters that ambushed them as they were leaving the store.

 

Peter wraps his arms around him and holds him close. He can’t feel any pain, nor can he leech any from Stiles, and that coupled with the very prominent lack of their attackers tells Peter enough.

 

“You’re trembling, sweetheart,” he notes quietly. He musters the energy to sit up and pulls Stiles into his lap, curling around him.

 

“Cold. Tired,” Stiles mumbles, “Used too much power.”

 

Peter looks around them and yes, Stiles might have gone a little excessive while saving them. He doesn’t mind one bit.

 

“Maybe a little bit,” Peter says, he stands up, Stiles still held closely against his chest. He rearranges the boy in his hold so it’s more comfortable, then picks his way around the bodies as he heads for the entrance. He presses a chaste kiss to the side of Stiles’ head, “Thank you, darling.”

 

Stiles, already mostly asleep, just hums and nuzzles closer, little fingers clutching at the material of Peter’s shirt.


End file.
